Five Things Better Left Unsaid
by Celia Stanton
Summary: Some things are just better left unsaid. A series of introspective vignettes. DG/Cain UST.
1. Cain

_Author's Notes: Yeah, I know what you're thinking: I need a new series like I need a hole in my head. However, these are short pieces, based on the "Five Times" prompts I've seen in various fandoms, and though we changed things around a little bit, it didn't tax the muse too much. All five character...man...dog...thingies...(see what I did there? Huh? Yeah, I need to stop uploading at 2:30 AM) are done, and a new vignette will be posted each day through the weekend. _

_Rating is for language, which is minimal anyway. There's also DG/Cain UST and angst to be had. Oh, baby, is there ever. :)_

_These vignettes are snapshots into the characters' minds during events toward the end of the series, and immediately after. _

_Thank you a million times over to Alamo Girl for helping me find my flangsty footing again, and for getting Charlie away from the Deformed Plot Bunnies of Doom. (Jeb/Doc babyfic? What? :) ) We're all better for your intervention. Look, Mel, angst! I can has Sara/David now? I be good kid. I promise._

_Disclaimer: The characters and situations herein are not mine. This story is meant purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement is intended._

* * *

**Cain**

He'd never admit it, but there were so many things he'd never tell her.

He'd never admit that he knew it shouldn't be like that—after all they'd been through, after all the help they'd given each other—secrets and lies had no place. But there were things he could barely admit to himself, let alone to her.

He'd never tell her that he'd known exactly who she was after finding her with the Mystic Man. After the old man confirmed DG's mother had lavender eyes, and in a tone that reeked not of Azkadellia's vapors, but of complete certainty and clarity, he'd known that this was the girl they'd all long thought dead. The first of many casualties.

He'd never tell her that he realized she hadn't had a clue, and the heart he'd need to be able to tell her the truth had rusted away a long time ago, and was buried halfway across the realm.

He'd never admit just how much he'd wanted to leave her then, how he'd wanted to run away from having to watch her discover that the life she'd been leading was a complete and utter lie. He didn't want to stand idly by and watch yet another spirit break.

He'd never tell her how the Mystic Man had sensed his hesitation, and said, in no uncertain terms, that she was his responsibility. She was the key, the old wizard had said, and she had to be protected at all costs.

He'd never tell her that he didn't want to protect her at first, because he knew he'd inevitably fail.

He'd never admit how badly it had hurt when they reached the Northern Island and she was so excited to see if her mother was still waiting for her to return. He'd never say that he didn't remember the last time he saw anyone run so fast in his life, and how his own steps were leaden, bound by the chains of duty, and the knowledge that she wouldn't find anything beyond heartbreak up those marble steps.

He'd never be able to express how broken he felt at being unable to protect her when he urged Raw to show her how Azkadellia had killed her. He'd failed to protect her when he'd confirmed her worst fears—her sister, her own flesh and blood—had actually taken her life.

He'd failed to protect her when he realized the Witch and her faction had followed them as though they'd had a roadmap. He'd failed to protect her when Zero got the best of him. Again.

He'd never admit that it was nothing more than sheer, dumb luck that he'd had enough energy to pull himself from the icy water after he'd fallen; it was also sheer, dumb luck that the Zipperhead hadn't been captured, and had enough presence of mind to drag him back to DeMilo's wagon.

He'd never say that it was sheer, dumb luck that the Witch hadn't killed DG when she'd had the chance, no matter how much he wanted to believe that the gods had a plan, because that would require faith he'd lost before she was even born.

He'd never confess how he didn't want to be there for the fallout when she realized the person they'd been trying to stop, the person they blamed for all the terrible things that had happened, was _her._

He'd never tell her how uncomfortable she felt in his arms. When she leapt onto him, his arms had come around her tiny body of their own volition, instinct taking over when his brain clouded; he'd never tell her just how off-kilter she made him feel.

He'd never tell her he wanted desperately to ask why she'd hugged him and not Glitch.

He'd never tell her how he felt like he was killing his wife all over again when he reached for her, at the Resistance cabin, and just before the Eclipse.

He'd never divulge the secret that so many times, when he looked at her, he saw Adora. He'd never admit to her that when she caught him staring at her, he wasn't seeing the princess, but was hoping to see familiar brown eyes smiling back at him, forgiving him for his continual failures.

He'd never acknowledge that when she smiled, especially when it was directed at him, it lit up the room like a beacon, as though the light that blasted pooch droned on and on about could be seen for miles. Just like Adora's face had. He'd never admit that when she got angry, especially when it was directed at him, she'd put her hands on her slender hips and challenge him, testing his limits and pushing him to the brink. Just like Adora had.

He'd never tell her how badly it hurt to be around her sometimes. He'd never admit that part of him did blame her for the Witch coming to power, for Zero being able to find Adora, and ultimately causing her death. He'd never admit just how hard he fought with himself on just how much he should forgive her—and how much he _wanted _to forgive her—and that constant struggle was what kept him up at night.

He'd never tell her how he'd found a heady combination of temptation and salvation in those impossibly blue eyes of hers. He'd never tell her how her first words to him—_Are you okay?—_were the hardest things he'd ever heard, because her voice wasn't Adora's, and yet it was the most beautiful sound he'd heard in a long time.

He'd never tell her how much he admired her. He knew what it was like to learn everything you'd held as testament was untrue. He knew what overwhelming confusion and paths diverging in multiple directions felt like. And yet, she took on each challenge with a gracious ferocity that staggered him.

He'd never tell her how he agonized over whether or not he should stay, whether he could admit to—or convince—himself that his promise had been fulfilled. She'd been returned to her family, to her home, safe, sound and just a little worse for wear.

He'd never admit to the fact that he knew in his gut she didn't need him to protect her anymore. He'd never admit that he _wanted_ her to need him anyway; it scared the daylights out of him.

He'd never tell her that in spite of how her absences twisted his gut, he looked forward to her running off half-cocked, leaving him to follow blindly—but faithfully—in her stead. He looked forward to hearing the sound of her delighted laughter, or how it warmed him when she grinned knowingly at him, and how it took all of his energy not to grin stupidly back at her, as though he were thirteen annuals old again and realizing for the first time that girls were okay.

He'd never admit that he'd lay down his life for her in the blink of an eye, or that he'd take another's if it meant protecting her, physically or emotionally.

He'd never admit part of him had loved her from the first time he'd laid eyes on her, wielding that ridiculous stick and an even more ridiculous will of unbendable steel.

He'd never admit she reminded him that some things were worth the risk, and were worth fighting for.

He'd never admit any of it, because some things were better left unsaid.


	2. Jeb

_Author's Notes: Disclaimer in Chapter One._

_You RBFOD/Scrutiny people may see a little wink-wink, nudge-nudge allusion to a familiar face in here. I actually had half a mind to include some of this content in "Antietam", but decided against it. Consider this your "what would have happened" had I not been evil._

_Alamo Girl, you rock. That is all._

_Oh, and because I forgot in Cain's chapter (it WAS almost 3 AM, and I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached, no matter what time it is), this story is dedicated to the Beebo, because she gives the best recaps of "SVU" and "Bones" in the history of EVER and redid our closets yesterday. Me love you, like, whoa._

* * *

**Jeb**

He'd never tell his father this, but having him back in his life was sometimes worse than thinking the man was dead.

He'd never speak of the unfathomable discomfort he felt when the elder Cain tried to insert himself back into his life, speaking as though he had any clue whatsoever of the goings-on of the last eight annuals. He'd never admit to wanting to push his father away from him after their first awkward hug in the resistance camp, wanting to demand—with force, if necessary—to know what the older man's angle was, and why he felt justified in questioning not only his ability to command, but the decisions he made as leader of the rebel faction.

He'd never tell of how he'd barely been able to keep from punching his father in the face when he stepped in to save Zero's life. He'd never admit to punching the shit out of a tree and bloodying his knuckles so badly in his furor after leaving the tent that he'd needed to see the cell medic and receive stitches. He'd never tell of his plan to go back to the Iron Maiden in the woods after the Eclipse, and kill Zero anyway, no matter what his father said his mother would want.

He'd never say his father had no right to make a decision regarding his mother's murderer, because the older man wasn't there for the aftermath, and could not have possibly understood the hell Adora and Jeb had been through to that point.

He'd never say that at first, he wondered who the hell his father thought he was, telling him he had to have heart, when all he remembered as a boy was that "heart", according to his father, was a sign of weakness; one that inevitably led to heart_break_. He'd never say that he no longer needed or wanted a father's guidance, especially from the man who'd been captured and locked away while his family was forced to pay the consequences of his joining the Resistance. He'd survived this long without it, and didn't find the change remotely necessary.

He'd never admit that he'd never fully felt comfortable around his father, or that he had little desire to inform the man of all the things he'd missed over the annuals. He didn't want to share the fact that he had quietly married his blonde medic girlfriend in a justice of the peace ceremony on his mother's birthday. He didn't want to explain where he'd gotten the scars on his body and soul, whether it be from a childhood accident falling out of a tree, or when he was shot twice trying to protect a caravan of women and children moving from one camp to another. He'd never say that his father had no _right_ to demand or expect anything from him, and that the tethers between father and son had long ago frayed and snapped.

He'd never state that he didn't even _know_ if he wanted to know his father anymore, that part of him thought it was just easier for the past to stay buried.

He'd never confess just how angry he was when he saw the look in his father's eyes when he talked about DG, this alleged Slipper-slash-princess they'd never heard of before, who had gotten herself captured but was still somehow going to free them from the tyranny of the Sorceress. He'd never say that he knew the older man was full of shit in saying he was just trying to help her. He'd never tell his father that the thing he was best at in life was reading other people quickly, and that his father had a terrible poker face and was as easily read as a picture book when it came to DG. He'd never admit that he'd known his father had developed feelings for the girl, and that after the older man rode away with the Headcase and the Viewer, he'd taken his frustrations out on the same tree again, and reopened his wounds, receiving more stitches and sympathy from his wife.

He'd never speak of how he could not dare look at DG, for he saw the exchanged glances and touches between his father and a girl only a few annuals older than himself, and it made him want to throw up. He'd never tell his father how disrespectful it was to keep his wedding band on, and act this way toward another woman. He'd never admit to wanting to shake his father and tell the elder Cain he couldn't have it both ways; he either lived in the past or the present, and he needed to make a decision to save either his son or DG from more heartache. He'd never say that it was the least the older man could do; they'd all had to make sacrifices along the way, but his stasis in the tin suit had shielded him from those necessary evils.

He'd never say that he felt like his father continually chose strangers over his family, and that he'd never understand it, as long as he lived.

He'd never say that when he embraced his father before they rode to the tower, he was fine if it was their final goodbye; at least he'd have some closure this time around.

He'd never say that he wished he could pass on some of the torment he felt every night when he inevitably dreamed of the day his mother died. He'd never say that in his darkest hours, he wished his mother had been the one locked in the suit, not the other way around. He'd never admit that the best of the Cain family was already six feet under, and that it was the ultimate cosmic joke that they were alive while she was dead.

He'd never say that his parents' deaths had all but destroyed his capacity to love, and shattered any remnant of faith he may have clung to throughout his adolescence. He'd never say that his father being returned to him only worsened the situation, for the once unshakeable truth had fallen like sand from his fingers, leaving him more confused, and thus more unhinged, than he'd been in a long time.

He'd never confess that he planned to leave for the furthest edges of the realm and settle into a quiet, comfortable life with his wife and their unborn child, and that he was still unsure whether or not they'd leave in the middle of the night without a word to anyone, especially to the older man. He'd never say that he knew without the shadow of a doubt that he'd be okay without his father by his side; he'd survived a thousand lifetimes without him, and he knew as well as he knew his own name that he'd continue to be fine on his own as he started a new existence.

He'd never admit to any of it, because some things were better left unsaid.


	3. DG

_Author's Notes: Disclaimer in Chapter One._

_I forgot to mention this when I started posting, but these vignettes are intended as snapshots of the characters' thoughts toward the end of/immediately after the series. (Thanks to Lattelady for mentioning that! What would I do without you?)_

_This one's for my Statler. Slow Down, Sister; even though Love Don't Live Here, I Run To You and Can't Take My Eyes Off You. One Day You Will be Lookin' For A Good Time, and It's All We'd Ever Need to be Long Gone. You help remind me of the Things People Say, that Love's Lookin' Good On You and Home Is Where The Heart Is. How's that for a creative shout-out of the Meredith Paris love, kiddo?_

* * *

**DG**

She'd never tell anyone this, but this place would never be home, and they would never truly be her family.

She'd never say just how hard it was for her to look anyone in the eye, for when she did, all she saw was their pain and heartbreak, and even as stubborn and unfaltering as she could be, she wasn't strong enough to stomach that. She'd never confess to just how the cowardice plagued her, trailing her like an unwavering shadow. She'd never tell how she couldn't decide which was worse—being around everyone she'd let down, or being by herself _because_ she'd let them down—and self-flagellation was easier done in private.

She'd never admit that on the rare occasions her sister reached for her, flashes of the cave and the Witch came unbidden to her mind, and not because of their linked magic. She'd never admit that she knew Az blamed her for her possession, and that the younger princess silently but firmly agreed she deserved to take the blame and punishment for all that had happened. She'd never mention the fact that she noticed Az still flinched any time they spoke, and that the Queen liked to keep the youngest princess on a short leash, as if knowing her ability to cause chaos and destruction was as much a part of her as her dark hair or bright blue eyes.

She'd never demand the answer as to why the Queen and Ahamo hadn't warned them of the Witch's entombment outside Finaqua, even though it was the one question she wanted answered above all others. She'd never say that she wished the Queen had used her powers to help Az be rid of the Witch, instead of bringing her back to life.

She'd never confess that she snuck down to the basement of the tower each night and wept uncontrollably over the shells of those she'd come to know were robots, but who would forever be her beloved mother and father.

She'd never admit that most of the time, she wished she could click her heels together and go back to Kansas. She'd never admit that she'd being a terrible waitress and a half-assed student was more appealing to her now, because though she may not have realized it at the time, that life was _hers_ to make or break; she answered to no one's expectations but her own there, a stark contrast from the landscape of the O.Z. She'd never admit that she hadn't known what loss was until she came to the O.Z., and that she'd never felt more out of sorts or disoriented than she did now, no matter how wayward she may have seemed before. She'd never say that she knew the others saw her as black-and-white, just a kid or just a princess. On the Other Side, she wasn't _just_ anything, never boxed in or easily categorized. She'd never admit she missed that freedom and self-reliance more than she could ever hope to articulate.

She'd never say that she'd pick being chased by Gulch any day over being chased by the demons and ghosts haunting her family—the ones that always had her face and voice.

She'd never acknowledge to anyone that she'd planned on running before, both in the O.Z. and on the O.S. She'd never tell them that she argued with herself a thousand times a night on whether it was easier for everyone if she stayed or if she left. She'd never tell them that sometimes she wished she'd never been born at all, that her existence had yet to yield anything other than pain and heartache to those around her.

She'd never admit that her feelings toward her friends had changed. She was torn in finding the lesser of two evils, because sometimes she couldn't look at them without seeing an Iron Maiden, an invasive surgery, or a suffocating digestive enzyme. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to let them go and reclaim their lives as hers was being reclaimed for her; she'd never be able to express just how much she relied on them to bind her to a place and an existence they knew better than she did.

She'd never acknowledge that she hoped Glitch would decide against reinserting his brain, and that she wouldn't lose her scatterbrained friend, who was always quick with a laugh or semi-pertinent information at just the right time.

She'd never acknowledge that she hoped Raw would still be an outcast among his people, and that he would stick around the palace, as she intuitively knew he'd understand the complex maelstrom of emotions she was feeling, and he was her best hope in discerning them, even if she was too chicken to seek his counsel.

She'd never acknowledge that her final wish before fighting for restless sleep each night was that Cain would stop seeing her as the girl who'd all but helped kill his wife, or the annoying "kid" he'd been forced into protecting. She'd never admit that she felt an indescribable, unavoidable pull toward him, and that this was the feeling that left her more confused than any other. She'd never say she knew she shouldn't feel this way; how dare she think about a future, love and happiness when she'd devastated so many other people's opportunities for the same thing? She'd never concede that out of all the people she'd hurt, he was the one she wanted forgiveness from most. She'd never tell just how much it hurt when his walls kept him from her as the iron suit once had. She'd never say that she knew with enough determination and stubbornness, she'd be able to shatter those barriers as easily as she'd opened the tin box; she'd also never say that she was too scared to do it, because she couldn't bear the thought of his rejection.

She'd never concede that she knew when _they_ looked at _her_, they only saw failure and lost promises from a lifetime and one last chance ago.

She'd never say that she knew nothing would ever be able to make up for what she'd done, and that part of her wondered if she should even bother trying; whether exploring the possibilities would do more harm than good.

She'd never say the only thing she reigned over was confusion, and that she was a shade of grey, lost in between being DG and Princess Dorothy Gale.

She'd never admit any of it, because some things were better left unsaid.


	4. Az

_Author's Notes: Disclaimer in Part One._

_Alamo Girl and Meredith Paris are my heroes. The end, good night._

_And yes, PhoenixFyre, apparently I do bleed angst. I promise not to stain the carpet. :)_

_This part's for Bee, because she hit her head, but "woke up today, so no coma/concussion! Yay!" Best. Email. EVER. You rock, girl. Love you!_

* * *

**Azkadellia**

She'd never tell her family this, but they were as much to blame for what happened as the Witch was.

She'd never utter the words _you failed me_ to her mother, no matter how desperately she wanted to scream them from the top of the Black Tower for all of the O.Z. to hear. She'd never tell her mother the hell she'd been through—how the pain of fighting to get out of the recesses of a mind that had once been solely hers had felt like her soul was tearing in two; she was being torn limb from limb, and her family was holding her down.

She'd never say that the Queen chose to save one daughter over the other, and that choice was the reason Az gave up fighting. She'd never tell her mother just how horrific it had been to realize that no help was coming, that the older woman made an unfathomable but conscious choice in not using her strength to help her own child. She'd never tell her mother how it hurt her most of all—more than the possession, more than the tainting of her light into destructive darkness, more than watching her own hands cover with blood as she turned from princess to murderer—when the Queen didn't try to exorcise the Witch from her eldest daughter, but somehow found a way to save her other child.

She'd never tell of the time she spent staring after her mother, trying to gauge whether or not the Queen actually realized the possession had taken place. She'd never tell of the unparalleled hatred she'd felt when she realized it didn't matter whether the Queen knew _why_ her daughter had changed, just that her mother should have known something drastic had happened, and she should have done something, _anything_,to fix it. She'd never say how she'd cried and pleaded into her pillow each night, wishing against all reason that her mother would come in the far-off morning light, _finally_, with a plan to save her. She'd never tell how she became to loathe the suns' rays at daybreak when she realized salvation would not come with the sunrise, that her mother was either too naïve or too blind on how to help get her allegedly beloved daughter back.

She'd never speak of her profound guilt and relief when she'd realized the Witch truly was the only one who cared about her. She'd never say how it was her mother's abandonment, and the corresponding destruction of the sliver of hope that had kept her alive and fighting like hell all those annuals, that finally made her yield fully to the Witch, letting the parasite conform completely to the host, sucking the little, apparently meaningless life that was left and ultimately turning it against her.

She'd never speak of how dirty she'd felt when she began to fully share her thoughts and dreams and hatred with the Witch, simply because she needed someone to talk to, and because there was no one else left. She'd never tell of the utter disgust and satisfaction she'd felt when the hurt of abandonment turned to righteous rage and fueled the Witch's wrath and strength like gasoline on flame.

She'd never tell anyone that the first thing she'd suggested after yielding completely was that they lock her mother away the same way the Queen had sentenced her daughter to imprisonment in her own mind.

She'd never tell her father that, even though her mother was the stronger of her parents, she had been waiting on _him_ to realize something was terribly wrong with his eldest daughter. She'd never say how she'd thought they'd shared a special bond, that he was the only one she thought truly knew who she was, who she could be. She'd never tell him that he failed her in more ways than she'd ever be able to count.

She'd never tell him that all those nights he'd rushed to her room when she woke up screaming, she was still fighting like hell to get out, banging against the locked door separating her mind and soul from him, crying out and begging desperately for him to hear her. She'd never tell him that when she'd kicked and flailed, sending her sheets to the floor in a tangled jumble—identical to the way her mind was at the time—she'd been calling out to _him_ to save her.

She'd never tell her father that when he—the only one who could stomach being in the same room as her post-possession, the one she swore would always be her champion, the one she'd told the Witch _knew_ what was wrong with her, and was searching for an answer he didn't dare let them see—left, his abandonment was more excruciating than the possession itself had been.

She'd never tell her sister that it served her right that she died.

She'd never shake DG and scream out that it truly was all her fault, and that the younger girl should just return to the Other Side and leave them in peace for once in her miserable existence. She'd never say that her sister _should_ feel inexplicable torment, and _should_ be plagued by the inability to sleep at night, knowing the monsters that lurked in the shadows were there because of her own making. She'd never tell her sister that DG's death should be the one the citizens were calling for, that _she_ was the war criminal, the reason all these horrible things had happened.

She'd never say how much it hurt to see DG welcomed back into the family fold as though no time or tragedy had passed, and treated like she was the light to lead the O.Z. back to peace and salvation. She'd never divulge how unfair it was that for the first time in her life, she was really, truly and indescribably alone, while DG had devout friends, family and countrymen to treat her like a hero. She'd never say how much of a coward her sister was, being continually whisked away and running from her problems, when she'd been forced to stay and pay dearly for the mistakes the other woman had made.

She'd never say that she'd trade her family's lives for her own in a heartbeat. She'd never tell them that while faultlessness was an idea as addicting as her vapors had been, her thoughts were not based in seeking excuses to condone her own actions; instead, they simply wished she could spread the blame for the destruction of the O.Z. as much as her family took the credit for its reclamation.

She'd never admit that she would leave this place and never return if there was a place she could go. She'd never say that she still felt trapped after all this time, and that her life now was even worse than when the Witch inhabited her. She'd never speak of the irony of the fact that now, her family wouldn't let her go, when they'd dismissed her so easily before.

She'd never admit any of it, because some things were better left unsaid.


	5. The Witch

_Author's Notes: Disclaimer in Part One._

_Charlie the muse would like to thank the ever lovely (and patient) Alamo Girl and the ever fantabulous (and patient) Meredith Paris, for being awesome to unfathomable levels. He would also like to publicly declare his undying love for Bee, because "Paper Flowers" is OMGFLAILTHUDSQUEE!! good. (Doc is going to be devastated.) He would also like to note that he's been trying to convince his human to put the "fluff" in "flangsty", and will eventually beat her into submission. So never fear, gentle readers, one day you will see a happy ending. One day. :) _

_Charlie would also like to sincerely thank all you lovely readers and commenters for your support and insight. _

* * *

**The Witch**

She'd never admitted it to anyone, but she would have chosen the older Gale sister over the younger one in the end anyway.

Yes, the younger one had first heard the call to darkness, as the prophecy had stated, but the moment Azkadellia had stepped into her prison, she'd felt the pull of the older girl's well honed magical ability calling out to her as she had called out for freedom over so many centuries. It was a beacon through the darkness of her tomb and her soul, drawing her in and making her drunk from the endless possibilities.

She'd never admitted that she'd noticed it, but she could tell by the way Azkadellia held tightly to DG's hand, crushing the younger girl's fingers in a vice-like grip, that the older Gale knew her sister was a flight risk from the moment they entered the cave. She'd noticed how Azkadellia had dug her heels into the rocky bottom of the floor, trying to force DG to stay with her when the younger child turned to flee. It was this scrutiny that told her Azkadellia had been forced to play second mother to her sister, and that the older princess was dutiful and submissive to stronger authorities, where her sister was willfully disobedient and unpredictable. She needed a host and a power that she could harness, not one that could easily backfire as the host fought back, ultimately killing them both. DG obviously had little knowledge about her magic, for had she known and stayed, there was no doubt the girls could have combined their strength to defeat her, just as their ancestors had. For her plan to work, she needed an endless supply of power, potency and tenacity. The only place she'd find that was Azkadellia, and she readily made her choice, forcing the girl to her knees literally, as she would spend the next annuals doing figuratively.

She'd never understood why those who surrounded the Gale girls believed DG was the stronger of the two sisters. Without Azkadellia's help, DG was as useless as her Slipper of a father when it came to magic. Azkadellia was bred of the same cloth as her mother and their ancestors—persistent, unwavering, unfalteringly resilient. She was a Gale in the truest sense of the term, which made her possession all the more sweet in the end. She'd finally bested her nemeses by taking away the one thing that could save them all; it was especially rewarding when the fools didn't even realize just how influential she'd ended up being in regard to the O.Z., living on in spite of their efforts. They'd tried their damndest to lock her away and make the world forget she'd ever existed, and now, they'd never forget just how much she'd _lived_.

She'd never admitted that there were some days she felt badly for Azkadellia, especially when the girl's parents all but turned their backs on her after the day in the cave. Ultimately, it had helped foster the relationship between both entities, altering the link from parasite and host to two halves of the same soul; she'd been able to tell Azkadellia just how alike they were. There were times when she remembered back to her own childhood, and could not control the flashes of memory as they flowed seamlessly from her mind to Azkadellia's. She'd understood the girl feeling dark and abandoned, forced to be alone with only the equivalent of a monster, an inhuman animal, for company. She'd understood how painful it was for the girl to be a prisoner of her own mind; she'd been a prisoner for far too long. She'd never admitted just how similar they were, and that those links only further strengthened the connection between them.

She'd never admitted that she felt momentarily guilty when she sensed Azkadellia's jealousy of her sister, and decided to exploit it to the fullest extent, and used their combined strength to kill the younger girl. But the guilt had disappeared with the extension of her hands through the air to DG's throat; that was the day Azkadellia had truly surrendered unto her, and it was the most alive they'd felt in centuries. She'd never admitted the pride she felt when Azkadellia didn't cry over her sister's death or her father's subsequent abandonment. She'd never admitted just how like a proud parent she felt, watching the girl grow into a strong, powerful woman, in every sense of the descriptors.

She'd never admitted how surprised she was when the true Azkadellia finally fought back after fifteen annuals and actually broke free. The lapses were momentary, of course, borne of her surprise rather than the girl's magical ability, but she'd had to fight much harder than she'd ever anticipated to remind the girl who was in charge of keeping their connection alive. She'd shown herself in the mirror after Azkadellia dreamed of her sister in the days before the Eclipse, an admittedly dangerous choice, considering the number of people guarding her just outside the door, but ultimately a necessary one, needed to reestablish order. But Azkadellia had continued to break through time and again, blocking her attempts to acknowledge "Glitch" as Ambrose, someone she thought she'd sentenced to death ages before. She'd been shocked at the intensity Azkadellia showed in keeping Ambrose's identity a secret, letting him help the girl they'd both long thought dead.

She'd never admitted that she once worried that the girls being in the same space might have lessened her hold on the eldest princess. DG, for whatever ridiculous reason, had not yet fully realized the strength of her magical ties to the O.Z., even as the symbol of the House of Gale was readily seen on her palm. Azkadellia had sensed her hesitation, and had taken advantage again, telling a mundane story about apples and exploring the woods, trying to pull her sister back to her side as she could not so many annuals before. As the girl fought to say something further to alert her sister to the possession, she'd finally managed to take over again. She used her control over Azkadellia's mind to remind the girl that this ridiculous Slipper standing in front of them was alive because her mother had fought to save one daughter over the other. She used her control to remind the girl that _she_ was the reason Az was still alive, that she'd never abandoned her, even in the darkest times. When Azkadellia finally hesitated, she'd used all the harnessed power she had to force the girl back into the locked recesses of their mind, and had turned DG over to Zero, hoping the link to the Gale magic would overwhelm both her and the Viewer, singeing them both from the inside out.

She'd never admitted it to any of her underlings, but darkening the skies during the double Eclipse was just the first part of her plan. The Eclipse was merely part of the whole, a cog in a well-planned machine. She'd had plenty of time to create the phases of her plan while she was imprisoned, and she thought anyone who didn't realize that her strength could have carried to the Other Side, ultimately reintegrating it with the O.Z. under her control, rather stupid. She'd planned to call on _her_ ancestors, just as the Gales had called on theirs to protect the stone, and right the many wrongs that had been inflicted upon them once the reclamation was complete.

She'd never admitted that when she threw DG off the balcony during the power surge, she hadn't expected the girl to come back fighting. She'd succumbed so easily before, running in the face of darkness, shriveling to nothing when the "light" became blinded by the darkness. She hadn't expected the girl to be as unwavering as her sister's magic had been for so many annuals. She hadn't expected the stone to remain with the House of Gale. _She_ was supposed to be the _only one and one alone_ in the scenario, not either of the princesses.

She'd never admit it was her hubris, not the Emerald being taken away, or the reversal of the beam, that was her downfall. She'd never admit that as she disintegrated like sand beneath a wave, that her final thought was of her former host, the only thing akin to a friend she'd had in centuries, hoping the girl—along with the rest of the O.Z.— never forgot her.

She'd never admitted any of it, because some things were better left unsaid.

The End

* * *


End file.
